Just Gotta Keep On Grinding
by CRichwine
Summary: (HIGH SCHOOL AU)Sam and Dean are surprised when John leaves them with "Uncle" Bobby, planning to be gone for the whole year. The brothers must learn to adapt to their new surroundings in Sioux Falls as they stumble across a broken family, murders, a secret drug ring, and a vicious ghost out for revenge. (main characters are the bros, cass, gabe, crowley, lucifer, various people)
1. Thanks, Dad

Dean gazed at the house his father had parked in front of, eyeing the dilapidated car yard he could just barely see behind it. He unfolded his arms to push open the car door, stepping out with a grunt. Shooting a glare at the man on the porch, he made his way to the trunk to grab the bags he and Sammy had brought. It wasn't that he disliked the man, who he and Sam (but mostly Sam) had affectionately dubbed "Uncle" Bobby, but Dean was not in a good mood. His father was leaving the Winchester children with Bobby for, as far as Dean knew, the whole year. Something about a string of hunts in Pennsylvania, stretching into New York. However, Dean had a feeling that a factor in taking the job had been the opportunity to be alone without having to deal with his kids.

He heard two more car doors open and close as his father and little brother climbed out of the Impala. His father went up to the porch to greet Bobby, and Sam joined him at the back of the car just as he opened the trunk. Dean shouldered his own bag and tossed the other duffel bag to his sibling.

"Here ya go, runt." He teased. Sam was much shorter than Dean, and he enjoyed rubbing it in. Sam had told him once to enjoy it while it lasted, because he, like every younger child, expected to grow a lot bigger than their sibling someday, but honestly, what were the chances of that?

Sam glared at him. He, of course, didn't find his brother's jest to be very funny. "I'm not a runt, Dean." He said, catching his bag, holding it by the straps so that the bottom brushed the dirt.

"'Course not, Sammy. Whatever you gotta tell yourself." He handed Sam another bag, full of his nerd stuff, instead of throwing it. His brother would freak if Dean tossed his books around.

The younger Winchester hiked this second, heavier bag up onto his shoulder, turning towards the house. "And don't call me Sammy!" He complained.

Dean slammed the trunk. "Stinging comeback, bro. Don't know how I can compete." He gave his brother a copaphragious grin, and Sam simply rolled his eyes in response, eyebrows furrowed. They walked up to join their father and "uncle" on the slightly bowed porch. As they approached the two adults, the tension in the air was palpable. Dean knew his father and Bobby weren't exactly in each other's good graces, but he also knew that Bobby was pretty much the only one their father trusted enough to take care of his children for so long.

Sam was already uncomfortable with the prospect of their father being gone for so long, but he seemed to shrink into himself more when he sensed the tense atmosphere. Bobby smiled at the two, though it seemed slightly forced. Their dad looked at them.

"Well. I've already told you as much as I can about this. Dean, look out for Sam. Sam, don't try to call me. It's too far, and I'll be busy. Got that?"

Dean's temper flared at his dad's comment, since he knew that Sam got anxious when he couldn't call their dad, and while Dean could get tired of it, even he wasn't mean enough to shut him down about it. He got angrier when he saw Sam flush with embarrassment, muttering, "Okay." as he avoided his father's gaze. But all Dean did was repeat the word.

Their father nodded. "Alright then. Goodbye, you two." He shook Dean's hand, awkwardly patted Sam's shoulder, then walked back to the car. In moments, he was gone.

Bobby visibly relaxed. He smiled at the brothers once more, sweeping them into a one-armed hug. Dean groaned, making a bigger show of distaste than he really felt, but Sam leaned into the familial touch. After a second, their "uncle" pulled away, holding them at arm's length and inspecting them.

"Well, been a while, hasn't it, boys?"


	2. Get A Room

Bobby led the two boys into his house, and Dean was surprised by the state of it. He supposed he couldn't really call it a mess, seeing how virtually nothing scattered around the room was trash or other useless junk, but it was certainly…cluttered. That was the word. It had a lived in feel, the kind Dean figured grandparent's houses had. Not that he would know, of course, but he could imagine. The last time Dean had been to Bobby's house, it had been before his wife, Karen, had died, and she had kept the house in order, mostly. The fact that he had let the house go this far said something about how he was doing, despite whatever façade he put up on the outside. But it wasn't Dean's place to confront him about it, so he didn't.

Lost in thought, he snapped back to attention when Bobby clicked two fingers directly before his eyes. Sam was looking at him condescendingly, like, 'Really, dude? Pay attention.'

"Uh…what?" He asked, turning to face Bobby. The older hunter raised his eyebrows at the boy.

"I'm sorry, princess, am I boring you? Listen up when I'm talking because it just so happens that I might be telling you the rules." He said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

Dean glared at him. "Fine."

Bobby folded his arms. "Right then. And don't get grumpy. Better get used to some tough love if you think you ain't gonna listen. And there's rule number one: listen to me. I don't care how rebellious you wanna be, or how much smarter you think you are, I'm older. I've got more experience. If I tell you to do somethin', suck it up and do it. If I tell you not to do something, you better damn well not do it, or you may very well be going without supper for a night. Got it?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Yes, Uncle Bobby."

Dean shrugged, burrowing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Yeah, whatever." Bobby shot him a look but didn't say anything.

"Right then. Rule number two should be pretty par for the course with you boys. I want you keepin' salt in your backpacks at all times, and some iron if you can get your hands on it. And no, Dean, you may not bring a knife to school."

Dean's mouth flew open. "What? Why?!"

"Because you'll either get caught with it and expelled, or you're going to lose your temper and take a stab at somebody."

The teenager groaned loudly, but Bobby continued talking.

"No stayin' out past eleven without my permission, no getting' in the guns, and don't get wrapped up in the bad crowd up at school. There's a young man in town- Luke Shurley. Stay out of the way of him and his goons unless you wanna end up face down in a ditch. Any questions?"

The two Winchesters shook their heads, and Bobby nodded. "Good. Right, your rooms are up the stairs and to the right. Right next to each other. You can head on up if you like."

Dean shrugged once again, readjusting his grip on his duffel. "Cool. C'mon, Sammy."

Sam followed suit with a muttered, "Dean!", and the two brothers started up the stairway, navigating around stacks of dusty books. Bobby ran a hand along his scruffy beard before calling out to the teenagers.

"Hey, boys?"

They stopped and looked down at him.

"Yeah?"

Bobby shuffled his feet, reaching up to fidget with his tattered cap. "Well…I just wanted to say, I really am glad to see you two again. I hope you do fine here 'till your daddy comes back."

Sam smiled warmly, thanking Bobby before running up the stairs, eager to choose his room first. Dean looked fondly at the hunter before saying, "Bobby, we know. What, you been watching chick-flicks?"

Any sentiment of the moment was now lost, and Bobby rolled his eyes at the sarcasm. "Go unpack, ya idjit!" He called, frustrated. Dean grinned at him as he sauntered up the stairs, yelling, "Oldest gets dibs on the rooms, Sammy!", which was followed by a faint, "Dude! Not fair!" from Sammy.

Despite his frustration at Dean, Bobby smiled fondly to himself before going about finding something for dinner.

After assessing the two rooms, Dean decided to let Sam keep the one he'd chosen. That room was closest to Bobby's, whereas Dean's was closest to the stairs. His room had rather drab gray walls with white trim, with a wooden dresser pressed up against the wall by the door. Against the far wall was a bed, twin sized, and a night table with an old alarm clock on it. A faded circular rug sat on the floor, and on the other side of the bed was a small metal desk and chair. Next to this was a lamp.

It was a rather nice room, but to Dean it was probably the best room he could've been staying in compared to his family's habit of living in various motels across the country, each with varying degrees of cleanliness. These motels tended to vary downwards.

He had seen Sammy's room, which was pretty much the same, only a bit smaller. Sam said he liked the smaller room because it was cozy. It wasn't much of a surprise to Dean that he had picked that room, because in addition to the furniture that was also housed in the large room, there was a tall bookshelf tucked into a corner, and a small, sagging armchair next to it, which was surrounded with stacks of even more books, up to the arms of the chair. Because of the added furniture, the room seemed to be even smaller than it really was, which made the elder Winchester feel cramped, not cozy, and he retreated to his new room quickly.

Once he had crossed the hallway and entered his room, he simply lay on the bed, grabbing a car magazine from his duffel bag instead of unpacking. Sam, on the other hand, had been unpacking like there was no tomorrow, ready to settle in somewhere and call it a home, anxieties aside. Dean wasn't ready for that. Part of him couldn't accept that his dad would be gone for that long, and if he unpacked everything, that would only be confirming his father's absence. So he flipped through his magazine.

After around fifteen minutes, Sam made his way over, tapping the already-open door before stepping inside. His hair was slightly mussed up, and his shirt was wrinklier than it had been fifteen minutes prior.

The younger Winchester looked at the bag on the floor next to the bed, then up at his brother in confusion.

"You're not unpacking?" He asked.

Dean shrugged at his little brother. "Don't feel like it. Not like there's much to unpack anyways, though."

Sam looked at him, that oh-so annoying yeah, right look the fourteen-year-old had mastered. He knew why Dean wasn't unpacking, but he didn't say anything about it. He walked over to Dean's bed, pausing for a moment to wiggle his bare toes in the fabric of the rug, before climbing up onto the foot of the bed.

"The rug is really squishy." He announced in an appraising tone. "Go feel it."

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, but decided to humor his sibling. He pulled his socks and shoes off and walked to the rug, digging his toes into it. Sam had been right, it was pleasantly squishy, but he doubted that that had been all the boy had come to say. He lay back down on the bed, waiting for Sam to continue. Sam, however, simply looked at him. It took Dean a moment to realize what he wanted.

He sighed. "Okay, yes, it was squishy. I'm glad I felt it. Now, what, Sammy?"

Sam grinned at him; as much as Dean annoyed him, he liked to annoy back, in little ways. "Just that I finished unpacking. And I started thinking about how, y'know, we're going to be here for the whole school year, right?"

"Probably."

"You know what that means, right Dean?" Sam tilted his head at his brother, his grin gone. "You can't just not do your schoolwork, Dean. It won't be like the other schools, where we're only there for a week. At the most."

The elder sibling shrugged. "I mean, I could still not do it." He said with a smirk.

Sam didn't look amused.

Dean sighed. "Alright, Sammy, I know. I'll do my work and stuff."

"I mean it Dean! You've already been held back once. You could've been a senior by now. If you won't do your work just for the sake of doing what you're told, at least do it for the sake of getting school over with faster, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay, Sammy. I mean it. I'll do my best." Before he could finish his sentence, the boys heard Bobby call them for dinner. As they stood, Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"But, uh, how come you're so interested in my schoolwork all of the sudden?"

Sam shrugged. "Just because. You'll be here long enough to get suspended or expelled for not doing it, so…"

"Ah!" Dean exclaimed in understanding. "Can't have the brother of the honors student giving the family name a bad reputation, now can we?" He ruffled Sam's shaggy hair playfully. Sam pushed his hand away.

"Dean." He complained, before darting out of the room and down the stairs. Dean followed him, slipping his socks back on his feet as he slowly made his way.

By the time Dean made it downstairs, Sam was already at the table and bouncing in his seat in an impatient manner.

"Jeez, kid. Don't you know how to walk?" He muttered.

Sam simply shot him a toothy smile.


	3. Freshie

Sam was worried. Sure, he'd complained a lot about changing schools so often, but now that he was going to be staying at one for an extended period of time, he was nervous.

Dean, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the new school. He saw it as a waste of time, aside from all the girls he would no doubt be running around with. Sam just hoped he would keep his promise and do enough of his schoolwork to pass his classes. As much as he loved his big brother, he didn't want to be the sibling of the kid who was retaking the 12th grade for the second time. He doubted that that would help his plans of college in any way.

The night before, Bobby had brought them their notebooks and other supplies, leaving the boys to pack their schoolbags before going to bed. Sam had made sure to do it quickly, as they would have to get out of bed early so that Uncle Bobby could drive them. Dean grumbled about not taking the bus, like they normally would, but Bobby had some more of their paperwork to drop off at the school, so they were going with him for the sake of convenience.

Morning came sooner than Sam had hoped it would, and before he knew it he was getting dressed, checking his backpack (again and again, until Dean told him to stop unpacking and repacking), eating breakfast, and clambering into the backseat of Bobby's car.

The whole twenty-or-so minute drive to Lincoln High was uneventful. Sam was fairly quiet, choosing to go over the schedule Bobby had given him (the boys' schedules had, apparently, been mailed a week ago), while Dean and Bobby had an ongoing (and sometimes heated) discussion about the cars they saw on the street and in Bobby's auto yard.

Finally, they arrived at the school, and Sam scrambled out of the car, taking deep breaths, while Dean sauntered out of the vehicle, backpack in one hand, the other in the depths of his pocket. Once Bobby joined the two siblings, they headed towards the building, making their way through the small crowd of students that were already there. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a few boys snickering at them, no doubt because, to everyone else, it appeared that Bobby was escorting them inside. Burrowing slightly into his jacket and layers of flannel, he adjusted his bag and hurriedly followed his family into the building.

As they reached the main office, Bobby turned to the boys to say goodbye. He gave Sam a one-armed hug and ruffled Dean's hair ("Bobby, c'mon!" Dean complained half-heartedly). Sam and Dean quickly gave their thanks and said goodbye, and, after Bobby pointed a threatening finger at Dean and muttered, "Be good", the boys headed to their classes.

Soon, the brothers split up, heading in the opposite directions. As Sam regarded his schedule for the hundredth time, he heard the warning bell ring. Five minutes until first period started. His first class was Algebra, room 130. He looked around him. 125, 126. So at least he wasn't far off. He quickly made his way down the hallway, turning a corner and stepping inside the classroom, managing to take a seat moments before the final bell rang.

Sam took a moment to regain his breath. He looked around the room, taking advantage of the last minute organization the teacher was wrapped up in. At least three of the chairs in the room were empty. All the other students were either lost in conversation with their friends, preparing for forty-four minutes of learning, or simply staring off into space. He could swear that one boy in the corner was sleeping.

An elbow nudged his arm, and he turned to his left, coming face to face with a mischievous-looking kid, a bit taller than him. His hair curled around his ears and down his neck a bit, similarly to how Sam's hair did. That was where their similarities ended, though. The boy was wearing a black jean jacket over a red button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone. His brown eyes glinted in a way that made Sam nervous. Well, not nervous, really. More like it made him want to make sure he still had his wallet.

"Hey. Freshie, right?" The kid asked. Sam nodded, and the boy's slight grin grew.

"Called it. Name's Gabriel. And you are, Freshie?"

"Uh, Sam."

Gabriel nodded, like they were part of some conspiracy. Honestly, what was with this kid?

"Well, Sam, thought I'd give you a coupla points of advice that might save you some grief later."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

His classmate sighed, folding his arms, but his cocky expression remained. "Don't believe in free lunches, do ya, Freshie?"

Sam shook his head.

"Because I feel like it. And because you might be good for my business, later on."

"Business."

Gabriel nodded, glancing at the teacher. He seemed to be finishing up whatever he was doing.

"Yep. First point of advice: candy's not allowed in fhe school building, but I, good sir, am the candy dealer. You want it, I got it. Candy bars to Fun Dip, my friend. Teachers don't even try and stop me anymore, they just deal with it. My locker is number 120. Stop by later to check out the goods and prices."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Um...okay?" Class hadn't even started yet, and he was already stuck with a weird kid right next to him.

At the front of the classroom, a few rows ahead, the teacher cleared his throat and began taking role call.

"Carrie Boyd."  
"Here."

"What was the second point of advice?" Sam whispered to Gabriel. Before the candy dealer could respond, the classroom door opened, and in sauntered another student. He wore black dress pants, black shoes, black everything. The only thing that wasn't black was his gray "Guns N' Roses" t-shirt, which was underneath a black suit jacket. His black eyes glittered, but in a more "uh-oh, danger" way than Gabriel's did.

The teacher looked disapprovingly at the new arrival, who had everyone's attention. Obviously the class, or the upperclassmen, at least, knew this boy. Which meant he had a reputation, and it probably wasn't a good one.

"Mr. Macleod. You're late." The teacher said, his pale lips thin in contrast to his bushy gray beard.

The boy, Macleod, simply cocked an eyebrow and smirked. "Really, Ishim? Hadn't noticed." The boy's voice was gruff and sassy, and he had an English accent. A few girls in the back giggled.

"Mr. Ishim, Fergus. Now take a seat."

The boy's smirk slipped a bit, and his eyes grew darker. "My name is Crowley."

But he headed to his seat anyway. Which was, unfortunately, to Sam's right. Fergus -or Crowley, as he apparently favored- sat, regarding the Winchester with his calculating eyes. Those eyes were, in fact, green, but they had appeared darker in the shadow of the doorframe. Gabriel leaned back towards Sam just as Mr. Ishim called, "Peter Richardson."

"Second point of advice," he whispered. "Is watch out for Tea Time over there."

Gabriel had whispered loud enough for Crowley to hear, however, and Sam was sure that he wanted him to. The British teen turned to Gabriel, ignoring Sam completely.

"Ah. Gabe. Didn't expect to see you this year, sweetie, seeing how eagerly you seem to follow in big brother's footsteps." Crowley grinned wickedly.

"Sam Winchester."

"Here!" He called, trying to ignore the whispered verbal battle occurring across him.

Gabriel's expression was dark. "That's rich, coming from you, Lucky Leprechaun."

A student behind them snickered.

Crowley glared daggers at the boy, then turned back to Gabriel.

"I'm Scottish, not Irish, you git!" He muttered harshly. "But of course you'd be too stupid to know that. If you and your siblings had three neurons between you, you couldn't make a triangle. I'm sure all the older boys would love to help you out, though. Oh, wait! They can't, because they all ran off to escape your absolute embarrassment of a family."

"Gabriel Shurley."

Gabriel's teeth ground together so hard, Sam was sure they would crack.

"Here." He grunted before whipping his head to the side to respond to Crowley.

"Yeah? Well, at least my dad acknowledges my existence, unlike your bitchy hag of a mother!"

"At least I have a mother, you bast-!"

Mr. Ishim whipped his pointer at his desk, where it connected with a loud crack.

"Macleod, Shurley, zip it or it's detention. I'm not dealing with this today."

The two boys glared at each other, and Sam saw Gabriel throw Crowley the bird, but they turned to the front, acting for all the world as though their argument had never happened.

"Good." Mr. Ishim turned to the blackboard. "Now, everyone take out your textbooks and turn to page 13..."

The class remained mostly silent for the remainder of the period, and the two seats remained empty, because of the absent "Carl Roberts" and "Anna Shurley". Sam assumed that was Gabriel's sister.

Sam also found that it was hard to work on math problems when the people next to you keep throwing each other death glares. The tension could've been cut with a butter knife.

He groaned internally when he remembered that whichever seats they chose today would be their permanent seats.


	4. Castiel

Sam had suffered through the rest of Algebra, sighing quietly when the bell rang. Crowley was one of the first to leave the room, cutting Sam and Gabriel off. Gabriel growled, then turned to Sam.

"Better hurry, Freshie. Passing period's only five minutes." Then the boy walked off without another word.

He made his way through the rest of his morning classes without much of a hitch, although a rude boy in Biology had thrown his backpack to the ground before running off, cackling. It was nothing new, as he was picked on a lot for being scrawny, but he knew how to make bullies back off if he had to.

He kind of wished he would have to.

Before he knew it, it was fifth period. Lunch. He headed to the cafeteria, expecting to see Dean, since they had the same lunch period, but he didn't spot him. Sam frowned, but wasn't worried. He was either serving a lunch detention or in a janitor's closet somewhere with a girl.

After getting his lunch (a cheeseburger, which looked surprisingly edible compared to some other school foods he'd seen), he looked around for a table. Most of them were full. A lot of them had groups and cliques sitting at them, and he decided It would be best if he found a table that was mostly empty. He headed towards the back of the lunchroom, spotting a prospective table. One half of the rectangular table sat a couple of girls, deep in conversation, but the other half only had one boy sitting at it. He made his way over and sat across from him.

Sam had expected to be ignored, and was prepared to eat his lunch in silence, so he was surprised when he noticed the boy was staring at him. It made him uncomfortable, so after a few moments of this, he looked up at the boy and cleared his throat. The boy jumped, as though he were surprised that Sam had noticed him.

"…Yes?" Sam questioned.

The boy, who had tousled black hair and striking blue eyes, held his gaze. "Hello. I apologize if I disconcerted you. I was just surprised that someone had chosen to sit at this table."

Sam nodded. "Oh. Okay. But could you, um, stop…. staring at me?"

The boy's eyes widened, and he looked down at his tray. "I-I apologize. People have told me that they find it uncomfortable, but I do not really notice when it happens."

"No, it's okay, it was just kind of weird."

There was silence for a moment as Sam waited for the boy to say something, and as the boy began to pointedly not look at Sam.

Suddenly, the boy blurted out, "My name is Castiel Shurley." He held his hand out in a formal and stiff manner.

"My name is Sam. Winchester." He shook the boy's hand.

Castiel nodded. "Samuel is a good name."

He smiled. "Thanks, but just Sam is fine."

Then a thought struck him. "Shurley? Like, Anna and Gabriel Shurley?"

Castiel seemed surprised. (Sam also noticed that he had forgotten to try and not look at Sam.)

"Those are not usually the people associated with my last name. How do you know of them? Anna is not even here today."

"They're in my Algebra. Gabriel sits next to me, and I noticed that Anna was absent. But, what names are usually associated with "Shurley"?"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Chuck Shurley, mostly. He is the principal, and our father. And Luke."

"Wow. Your dad is the principal?"

"Yes." His face fell, and he looked upset. "But Naomi Angelo, the vice principal, does more than he does. The students don't really see him. And Miss Angelo seems to be the one in charge. He's just kind of…. A name we know. Like at home."

Sam knit his brows. He wanted to ask for more details, but obviously the subject upset Castiel. Not to mention the fact that he could relate to that, and he himself didn't like when people pressed him for information, so he let the matter slide. Instead, he questioned another thing that Castiel had said.

"Luke? Who's Luke?"

Once again, Castiel appeared uncomfortable. 'He is… my brother. But I am not supposed to speak about him unless Anna is with me."

"Why?"

"Apparently I tend to say more than I should, and it is a...touchy subject. I have a condition called Asperger's syndrome, and sometimes I do not think properly before I speak. I am doing my best to work on that, but it is hard."

Sam hummed in acknowledgement. "I think my uncle mentioned Luke. But he said his last name was Novak, not Shurley."

"I-I think it would be best if you asked me this tomorrow. Anna will likely be feeling better, and you may ask us then."

And that was the end of that. Sam decided to let Castiel talk, and boy, could he talk. He talked about the food, questioning its alleged misnomer of "hamburger", his classes that day, and an alley cat that he liked to feed. He went on describing the cat's minute details for minutes. Castiel also liked to speak about his hobby, which was studying birds.

When the odd boy had first said that his hobby was "bird watching and studying", Sam immediately thought of Dean and figured that it was a euphemism. He asked Castiel if it was. The boy simply tilted his head, squinting in confusion. Sam concluded that it was not a euphemism. Oh, boy, was it not a euphemism.

Castiel talked about the different birds he saw in the woods and by the river, and how he took some pictures, and he even pulled out a sketchbook full of little drawings. They were extremely detailed and well-drawn, each bird's intricate feathers drawn beautifully. As Sam flipped through the notebook, Castiel stood.

"I must throw away my trash." He announced to Sam, and walked off. He even walked a bit strangely, like he was in a daze.

Sam decided that Castiel was alright. It was a bit difficult to get a read on him, and he had discovered that this boy did not understand sarcasm in the slightest, but he was nice enough. He briefly wondered if he was always like this.

"Oh yeah. He's always like that." A female voice said.

Sam turned towards the source of the voice. It was one of the two girls sitting on the other side half of the table. She had glasses, which reflected the light so harshly that it was hard to see her blue eyes, and her brownish-blond hair was cut to her shoulders. She had a notebook out, which she was writing in, even as she spoke to him. Her friend murmured in agreement.

"Oh. Um, what are you reading?" Sam asked the second girl, who held a large novel close to her face.

This girl had brown hair, but it was cut very short, in a way that reminded him of Dean's hair. She also had glasses, with round lenses.

She looked him directly in the eyes. "No idea. I'm blind."

Sam squinted at her, to see if she was joking. She didn't appear to be, as her eyes were unfocused and almost cloudy.

Before he could respond, or even make heads or tails of the two girls, Castiel came back.

"I'm back." He announced unnecessarily.

Sam looked at him. "I see." He said with a raised eyebrow.

He turned back to the girls, but they had gotten up and walked off. Weird. He shrugged off his confusion and continued his conversation with Castiel.

A few minutes later, the bell rang again. Lunch was over. Castiel stood, stiff as a board, seemingly oblivious to the racket the other students made as they talked and yelled, chairs scraping across the floor. Sam winced at the noise.

"See you tomorrow?" He asked over the commotion. Castiel nodded, then went on his way without another word. Sam sighed. Castiel and Gabriel had one thing in common, then.

Four class periods later, school was over. A rather exhausted Sam met up with Dean outside the main entrance, and the two brothers proceeded to walk to their bus.

"Where were you at lunch, Dean?" Sam asked his brother, almost afraid of the answer he would receive. His nervousness was validated when he saw a lopsided grin on Dean's face. Sam sighed.

"Did you seriously spend the whole forty minutes of lunch in a closet with a girl somewhere?" He demanded, exasperated.

Dean just shrugged. "Dude. If there's a hot girl in chemistry, you know I'm not about to ignore her. Smart and sexy? Hell yeah. And who can blame her for having good taste in guys?" He finished cheekily.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Did you even get her name?"

"Duh. Alexis."

The younger Winchester stepped up into the school bus once they reached the yellow vehicle, Dean following close behind. Sam's short legs caused him to almost topple backwards with the attempt to step up so far, but he managed. The Winchesters chose two seats in the back of the bus, with Dean in the window seat.

"So, are you two a couple now, or was it just a fling?"

Dean sighed with mock irritation. "What is this, an interrogation, Sammy?"

His brother just stared at him through half-lidded eyes, lips pressed tightly together, obviously not in a pleasant mood. Being called "Sammy" was most definitely not helping.

"Nah, we're not a thing." Dean continued. "we both figured a one-time thing would be better. Which is too bad, 'cause she had a nice- "

Sam suddenly plugged his ears, a look of disgust on his face. "Too much information, Dean!"

His brother chuckled. "You gotta grow up, man, or you're gonna die a virgin. Honestly, who'd have thought that my baby bro would be such a prude."

Taking his fingers out of his ears, Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not a baby, Dean." He said, ever belittled by his annoying sibling.

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself, Runt." Dean teased, ruffling Sam's shaggy hair. Sam tried to keep an irritated look on his face, but he smiled a bit, despite himself.

"Ah! There's the brother I know and love. So, are ya still bein' a Bitch-chester, or no?"

The annoyed look was back.

"Really, Dean?"

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

The rest of the bus ride passed in silence. Once they reached their stop, the Winchesters got off and started to walk to remainder of the way to Bobby's house.

"So, Sammy, got any hot teachers this year?"

Sam groaned, and the brothers bickered the rest of the way home.


	5. Is This Kid For Real?

Dean groaned as he forced his eyes open. Ugh. His alarm clock was ringing, making an almost deafening noise in comparison to the quiet home.

Wait, quiet?

Not on a school day.

The elder Winchester shot out of bed, glancing at his clock. He was late. Shit, was he late. He'd missed the bus by almost ten minutes, and school started in around twenty!

Dean almost tripped (multiple times) as he threw his clothes on and raced downstairs, pulling his socks on one-handedly. He had been hoping that Bobby would still be home, and willing to drive him, but there was, of course, no such luck for the Winchester boy. There was a note on the table, however, and he grabbed it as he slid into his shoes.

 _Dean,_ it read. _You were sleeping like a dead person. Wouldn't wake up. Sam made the bus, so don't worry about that. I'm out getting some parts for a Ford that came in. If you get up in time to get to school, you better hightail your ass over there. Bobby._

Dean felt like he was going to throw up, but he forced the bile down. _It's fine. Everything's gonna be fine,_ he told himself. He wasn't very convinced. He sprinted out the door, his mind immediately going to the multiple cars in the yard, but then he remembered that he not only had no keys for them, but he wasn't sure how many of them even worked. Not to mention that Bobby would probably kill him if he tried to hot wire any of them. He did notice a rusty old bicycle, probably Bobby's at one point, leaning against the side of the house. He quickly checked its tires and chain, then, ignoring his prickling dignity out of fear, climbed upon the ugly thing and pedaled as hard as he could onto the street. The bike was pretty rickety, but it held up under him, which was surprising considering the pace he was setting. He careened down streets and around cars, desperate to make it on time.

To his dismay, he arrived at Lincoln High five minutes after classes were supposed to start. It took him _another_ five minutes to race inside and get to his class. Trying to steady his harsh breathing, he slipped into the room, interrupting the Biology lesson being taught by Mrs. Harvelle. She glared at him as she took in his windblown appearance.

"Mr. Winchester, you are ten minutes late. Care to explain?"

Dean flustered under her fierce gaze. He still hadn't recovered himself enough to make a snarky response. Instead, he shrugged, rather weakly. "Um...I slept in."

His teacher raised an eyebrow, and a few boys in the back snickered. In an attempt to save face, he stuffed his fists into his jacket pockets. Whatever. Everyone would forget about this when he pounded those jerks into the pavement. _Yeah. Aggression. Aggression is better than terror. Good._

He wasn't paying attention when Mrs. Harvelle wrote him a late pass, shooting annoyed glances at him as she scribbled the time and her signature on the scrap paper, and instead he chose to stare at the wall and try not to scream. He numbly took the note from her hand and headed down the hall, feet dragging. As he walked, he felt phantom pains on his arms and back and tried to ignore the almost audible voice of his father yelling into his brain.

Normally, John had thought of school as a dumb distraction from hunting, but he'd have been damned before one of his sons was late for it if he didn't need or want their help on a job. He'd always been rather aggressive, but the older Dean got and the more John drank, he became downright abusive. There had been okay days, of course, hell, even good days. Enough that Dean couldn't bring himself to hate John for what he did. He was pretty sure there was something wrong in that, but wasn't there something wrong with pretty much any hunter? Still, it had been bad enough that Dean grew increasingly wary, even frightened of him, and had eventually stopped referring to him as Dad. He was John, now.

But not to his face. To his face, he was Father or Dad or Sir, or you got a thump on the back and a sore spot for the good part of a week.

See, John, being a person in charge, had great respect for other people in charge. He saw being late, amongst other things, as deliberate rebellion against the person in charge. He seemed to take that as a personal offense, and liked to let Dean know. Violently.

That was one of the reasons Dean was so protective of Sammy. God knows that if he weren't there to take the brunt of the hits, Sammy'd have been a goner. Sam had taken a smack here and there, but nothing too serious, and Dean had done his best to hide his own bruises from his little brother. And, as much of a drunken brute that John was, he was smart. He made sure never to hit his eldest son's face, where the marks would show.

Dean would be lying if he said there wasn't a reason he always wore his leather jacket.

Tears prickled in the teenager's eyes, and he rubbed his face vigorously. No, he was not crying at school. That was a low you couldn't rise up from. Just don't think about it, don't think about it-hey, there's the office.

He stopped outside the door, taking a deep breath. He had to appear at least somewhat composed before walking in there, so he decided to deal with his emotions in the most effective way he knew how. By burying them. Works every time.

Dean stepped into the office, which was quiet except for the constant clicking of the secretary's keyboard and the hum of a copier in the corner. He stepped inside, taking in his surroundings. The secretary glanced up at him with raised eyebrows.

"Uh, I've got a late pass."

He handed it to her, and she took it, placing it on a small stack of used passes. She then pointed to a clipboard in the corner by the copier.

"Go sign in there."

She went back to typing.

Dean followed her directions, shuffling over to the clipboard. He picked up the pen roughly, scribbling his name down. That was when he noticed the boy operating the copier machine. It looked like he was making copies of a math worksheet. The boy already had a stack of around twenty in front of him, and Dean could only imagine how tedious that job had to be.

"So, what're ya in for?" Dean asked the boy quietly, pretending to still be writing. He was surprised when the boy shot him a look, as though he were offended that anyone would think that _he_ were working in the office because he'd broken a rule. The Winchester decided that he didn't like the guy.

" _I'm_ not in for anything. I choose to work in here. It gets me on the good side of the principal and teachers. And I get extra credit!" The boy said in a snooty tone.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like that's impressive."

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Yes, actually. It is. I've got a nice little gig here. In case you hadn't noticed, on the physical side, I'm a bit...lacking," he said, which was an understatement. The boy was rather short, with curly brown hair, a gray cardigan, not to mention the fact that he was rather on the chubby side. He looked the opposite of threatening.

He continued: "Which means that I need all the protection I can get. Being in here gives me power. I can work up a lot of leverage if I ever need a favor. I've got students, janitors, secretaries...hell, even a few teachers on my proverbial payroll. So, I'm kind of a big deal here."

Dean wasn't all that impressed, and the little that he was, he kept hidden. All this boy's speech really did was lessen his faith in the public school system.

He leaned in, towering over the other boy. "A big deal, huh? What's your name, then?"

"Matt. Matt Thompson." His voice didn't waver, but he eyed Dean warily. The secretary was still typing away, oblivious.

"Well then, _Matt_. I'm Dean Winchester. And you should know that I don't need any lackies to beat the shit out of you for me. I can do it all on my lonesome. So I'd suggest stayin' out of the way of me and my baby bro, otherwise I'll be coming after you."

Matt looked almost scared, but he scoffed all the same. "Really?" He said sarcastically.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. "I've seen the man-sorry, _boy_ behind the curtain. Don't mess with me. Got it?"

Matt glared at him, but said nothing. With a parting smirk, Dean strutted out of the office and back to class. Huh. Scaring the crap out of that kid had really distracted him from whatever it was he'd been freaking out about. He didn't even remember what it was!

So he told himself. Yup. Burying his problems sure did work in the short run.

Once it reached his lunch period, Dean decided he might as well actually go to lunch. He was pretty hungry, considering his unexpected morning bike ride. Besides, he kinda wanted to see Sammy.

He grabbed a tray of something that resembled pizza and gazed around the cafeteria. It was _loud._ He supposed he shouldn't be too surprised, considering how many teenagers were packed into the room, but still.

After around three minutes of searching, Dean spotted his little brother. He was sitting near the back, alone at the table except for a confused-looking black haired boy, and a girl with similar features, but red hair. Judging by the similarities in their faces and how they seemed to be interacting, they were probably siblings.

Dean walked over as quietly as he could, sneaking up behind Sam. So far, only the girl, who was sitting across from where Dean was standing, had noticed him, but she didn't say anything. She had, however, adopted an expression similar to her (supposed) brother, who seemed to be in a state of perpetual confusion. The elder Winchester was actually surprised that that kid hadn't seen him yet, since he was sitting right next to the girl.

Before the red-head decided to say anything, Dean lashed out his arm, ruffling Sam's hair quickly and roughly.

"Heya, Sammy." He teased. His brother whirled around in his seat, and the _look_ he gave Dean. If looks could kill.

Dean simply responded to his brother's glare with a wide grin, dropping into the seat next to his sibling. He glanced over at Sam's friends. The girl looked wary, as though she was unsure of whether Sam and Dean were friends or enemies, and if she should attempt to do something about Dean's sudden appearance.

"He's my brother." Sam assured her, and the suspicion dropped from her gaze.

The boy just stared at him. It was...kind of creepy. His eyes were bright blue, which shone out of his pale face, and Dean decided that he was going to eat his pizza instead of annoying the shit out of Sammy just to avoid meeting that weird kid's stare.

As Dean busied himself with his food, Sam continued talking with his friends. The boy, whose name was apparently Castiel, had talked about bees for a few minutes (Dean realized that the more he learned about this boy, the weirder he seemed), and the girl, Anna, chatted with Sam about some other classmates they had first period. With nothing better to do, Dean listened in.

"Wait, so, Gabriel is your brother? You guys look nothing alike!" Sam exclaimed.

Anna laughed. "Not all siblings look similar, but I'm sure you'd say that about all of my siblings if you saw them. Except Castiel, of course."

"What do you mean, 'of course'?" Dean chimed in.

Before Anna could answer Dean's question, Castiel piped up, answering for her.

"Anna and I are twins. Howver, we were adopted, as were several of our siblings. The only siblings we have that are biological children of our father are Gabriel, Michael, and Luke. The two of us, Raphael, Samandriel, Uriel, and Balthazar are adopted."

Sam nodded in understanding, but Dean just squinted in confusion. "Samandriel? The hell kind of name is that?"

Now Castiel looked confused, as though having a name like _Samandriel_ were normal to him, although, in all honesty, it probably was. Anna, however, smiled at him.

"Yup. Chuck-our dad- named us all after angels. My real name is Ananchel."

"I'm gonna stick with Anna, thanks." Dean responded, deadpan. "Oh, and I ain't callin' ya Castiel, that's weird too. I'm calling ya Cass, got it?"

Cass knit his eyebrows together. "Weird?" He looked a bit hurt.

"Not like, bad weird. Just...different? It's cool and all, but complicated, y'know?" Dean amended quickly. Cass looked pleased with Dean's response.

Sam looked up suddenly. "Oh, hey, Casti- Cass? Didn't you say something about Luke yesterday?"

Cass now looked uncomfortable, as Anna turned to glare at him.

"Cass! You know you aren't supposed to talk about him!" She whispered harshly. Cass looked down at his lap, eyes shameful. The boy shrugged and murmured something Dean couldn't hear, but Anna sighed and murmured, "No, it's fine."

Anna gave her brother a quick side hug before turning to the Winchesters.

"Things in our home are...complicated."

Dean snorted humorlessly, "Tell me about it."

Anna smiled a bit at that, but it dropped from her face quickly.

"Our dad is the principal here. He's super busy, because he has a second job as well. He's co-owner of this little publishing company. He's hardly ever at home, and when he is, he doesn't have all that much time for us. He loves us, of course, you can tell in the little things. It's just that the little things tend to come few and far between."

Anna took a breath and looked at the table. It was obvious she didn't talk about this much. Cass was still silent, gazing at his lap.

"Our whole family has problems. Castiel has autism, Gabriel has depression, et cetera. But the worst of it belongs to Luke, the second oldest."

"A lot of people called him Lucifer behind his back." Cass whispered, not looking up. "I think he liked it."

"Damn." Murmured Dean, brow furrowed.

His sister nodded. "He has a couple of things wrong with him. They're not your business right now, so don't ask me to expand on it. Especially around Cass." She whispered the last part, eyes dark.

"What you need to know is, he's...violent. And, he's a drug dealer. He runs a coffee shop as a front for trafficking it around. If he didn't actually sell normal coffee, the whole thing probably would've collapsed around him already, but since the shop is a legitimate business, the cops don't have enough proof of anything to get a warrant."

Sam reached over and patted the girl's hand. She smiled a bit at him.

"What's it called? So we can avoid it?" Sam asked.

"It's just called Coffee House." Cass supplied.

Dean snorted. "Creative."

The twins actually snorted in laughter at that, and Sam quickly changed the subject to get their minds off of the topic.

"So, why were you late today, Anna?"

"I was still feeling a bit ill this morning. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to come to school or not, but eventually I decided it'd be best to not miss another day."

Dean looked up at her. "You were late today?"

She nodded.

Sam turned to his brother, an almost accusing look on his face.

"Oh yeah, you were late too! Honestly, Dean. It's only the second day."

Dean could feel his stomach doing flips. God, he didn't need this again.

He shrugged shakily. "I was tired."

Sam rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Of course you were. But, dude, Bobby was pissed this morning." He said with a small smile, continuing to eat as if his words didn't mean anything to Dean.

Dean's heart was beating so fast he thought it might fly out of his chest. He knew Sammy didn't understand the gravity of what his words meant to his brother, and was probably making a joke, but he couldn't calm down, he couldn't calm down, _**he couldn't CALM DOWN!**_

His eyes were wet again, and this time he couldn't hold back his tears, he knew he couldn't. Before he broke down in front of everyone, he muttered, "Gotta go." in a breaking voice, and rushed to the bathroom.

He heard his brother calling after him questioningly, but he ignored him. He slammed the door behind him, and thanked whoever was Upstairs that the bathroom was empty. Unable to keep it together any longer, he locked himself in a stall, slipped to the floor, and began to sob.

Shaky breaths echoed through the bathroom, as he cried, massaging the bruises on his arms, hidden by his jacket.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." he murmured to himself, and even though he knew it was himself speaking, he still heard John's voice.

 **stupid**

 **stupid**

 **Stupid.**

 **might as well be your name, you worthless little shit.**

 **careful where you put your hands the scabs might reopen**

 **your dad didn't put those there, did he?**

 **no**

 _Wasn't me._

 **huh. didn't know razors could cut by themselves.**

 **someone could walk in, you know.**

 **know what a big baby you really are.**

 **keep up that drinking habit you've started, you'll be just like him.**

 **everyone will be afraid.**

 **of you.**

 **Dean.**

 **Dean.**

"Dean!" Cass called again. Dean's head snapped up, muffling himself with his shirt sleeve. His harsh breathing quieted. Sure, he was a quiet crier, but the bathroom was echoey. Damnit, Cass had probably heard him! He shut his eyes, waiting for the inevitable taunting.

Instead, he heard Cass get on his knees.

"I can see you under the gap between the floor and the stall, so I know you are decent. I'm coming in."

And the next thing he heard was Castiel crawling on the floor, into the stall. Then he felt the weight of him sitting down next to Dean.

Dean cracked open his eyes, which were no doubt red and puffy **and ugly.**

Cass stared at him, those wide blue eyes filled with concern.

"Sam asked me to check on you. He thought you were mad at him."

Dean gave a watery chuckle. "Course I'm not mad at him. I'm just..." **messed up.**

"...having a panic attack." Finished Cass.

Dean looked away. "Look, I-"

"I'm not going to make you tell me what's wrong, but I can help you. My brother has had panic attacks before, and I've been there for him. I can be there for you."

Dean hesitated, then nodded.

The younger boy placed an arm around Dean's shoulders.

"Is whatever you're afraid of near here?"

Dean shook his head. "Whoever."

Cass looked even more troubled at that. " Can this person...get to you?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm afraid that...someone else will do what that person did."

Cass paused at that. "Have they...hurt you?"

Dean nodded. "Hit me."

While Cass still looked upset, he looked relieved that it wasn't anything else. "Has this other person ever hit you?"

"No."

"Then why do you think they would?"

Dean shrugged.

"Do YOU really think they would, or is it just the panic talking?"

The Winchester contemplated for a moment. "The panic..." he replied slowly.

And the more Dean thought about it, the more he believed it. Nothing Bobby had ever done implied that he would hurt Dean. It suddenly dawned on him that with Bobby, he was...safe?

Cass removed his arm. "Do you feel any better?"

Dean nodded.

The other boy squinted at him. "Are you just saying that to make me go away?"

Dean chuckled at that. "No."

"Good. You can come back out when you're ready. I will tell Sam that you are not angry with him."

"Thanks."

Cass unzipped his tan jacket, reaching into an inside pocket and pulling out a candy bar. "My brother, Gabriel, gave me this, but I think you need it more."

Dean took the chocolate bar, but before he could say thanks, he noticed the shirt Cass was wearing. He stared at the boy in disbelief as he zipped his jacket, shimmied onto the floor and out of the stall, and left the bathroom.

Then he began to laugh. Not the sad little chuckle that had escaped him earlier, but full-on, uncontrollable laughter.

Castiel had been wearing a graphic t-shirt with a bee on it, smiling. Above it read, "Beauty is in the eye of the bee-holder."

Dean wiped his eyes, wheezing, as he exclaimed, confused and still chuckling, "Is this kid for real?"


	6. Through The Eyes of An Angel

Castiel wandered down the hallway. School was out, and he'd only just reached the first floor of the school. The building had three in all, and the art room was on the top floor. He liked to walk down the stairs slowly, so that by the time he got to the bottom, he was almost completely alone, able to maneuver his way through the halls without dealing with the after-school rush to leave.

As he walked, he hiked his bag higher up onto his shoulders, a hint of a smile forming on his lips. Today had been a good day. He had helped someone, made a good first impression. Those were always nice things to do, but they did not often happen in the same day. The Someone he had helped was Dean. He had a brother named Sam, who liked Castiel, which was rare, too.

They were good Someones.

But he had to forget them for now; he had something to do. Something important.

* * *

Before the start of the school year, Castiel had found himself in a bad situation. Someone who worked with his brother, Luke, had confronted him, taunting him. This Someone didn't like Castiel. Castiel didn't like Fergus, either.

So he hit him. Square in the jaw. It hurt his fist, a lot, and he knew he wasn't supposed to, but it made him feel a lot better. Fergus had actually been shocked that someone would have the nerve to punch him, and that amused Castiel. It also made him afraid that he might start acting like Luke, so he ran. Fast. He ended up stopping behind the school gym, because his lungs were on fire and his legs had turned to lead. He hadn't even known he could run that far; he'd started at the library, almost thirty blocks away.

As he'd slumped against the brick wall of the gym, catching his breath and massaging his throbbing knuckles, he heard footsteps approaching. Castiel looked up, surprised that anyone else would be here during the summer. At first he thought that perhaps it was a teacher, but the moment the short, pudgy frame rounded the corner, he knew who it was.

Matt Thompson.

Whether or not you knew him personally, everyone in town knew who Matt was. Castiel had been in the same class as him for seventh and eighth grades, but they'd never really spoken to each other. All Castiel really knew was that he was smart, and liked being in charge. However, his body was not exactly built for that sort of role, as the person in charge in their particular age group tended to be the sort of person who could beat someone up. Or a person who had access to someone else willing to beat someone up for them.

Matt had rounded the corner, jumping a bit when he noticed the other teen. He squinted at him. "Ass-tiel? What are you doing here?"

Castiel, still breathing deeply, frowned slightly at the nickname, assigned to him in seventh grade. "Catching my breath."

The shorter boy rolled his eyes. "I can see that. But why?"

He shrugged. "Running."

He tilted his head in confusion. "Why are you here?"

Matt puffed out his chest, smirking proudly. "I was helping some of the teachers organize things. Gets me in their good graces. Extra credit and the likes. Free hall passes."

Castiel nodded absently.

The other boy waited, as though expecting him to speak. When the Shurley didn't, he looked disappointed that someone wasn't impressed by that.

"So...why were you running?" Matt leaned on the wall next to Castiel, narrowing his eyes. "Something scare you?"

"No." Castiel replied, although that was a lie. "I punched someone." He revealed his bruised fist.

Matt whistled in appreciation. "Wow. Must've been a hell of a punch." He grinned. "Who'd you hit?"

Castiel furrowed his brow, surprised that he wasn't being reprimanded. Wasn't this sort of thing frowned upon? Or was it only adults who did that?

Confused, he simply shrugged. "Fergus," he muttered.

Matt's face was blank, but slowly, realization dawned on his face, and he burst out laughing, doubling over, tears flowing from his eyes.

"Y-you hit Crowley?" He exclaimed once he'd calmed down a bit. "That's amazing! That foreign little bastard probably deserved it, too."

Unable to help himself, Castiel began to smile too. He supposed it was kind of funny.

A smirk formed on Matt's face, and he leaned closer to Castiel.

"Hey, Castiel, you must be pretty strong, huh? How'd you like to be friends? I've got the brains, you've got the brawns. We could help each other out. You could protect me, be a bodyguard of sorts. Then you'd be helping out a friend!"

Castiel's face lit up. He liked helping people. But he also didn't want to hurt anyone. He voiced his concern, but Matt simply waved it away.

"Oh, that's fine. You won't have to hurt anyone unless they try to hurt me, okay?"

Castiel thought for a moment. Would that be okay?

"What do you say?"

He looked at Matt, who had his hand held out to shake.

Castiel said yes and shook the hand.

* * *

The important thing was meeting up with Matt. He'd left a message in Castiel's locker, telling him to meet up after school. Behind the gym, where they usually met. Apparently, he had something important to tell him.

On his way out of the buildng, Castiel passed Fergus, who glared at him. Everytime he saw the Scottish boy, it made him uncomfortable, simply reminding him of the day he'd screwed up. Avoiding eye contact, he walked faster. Once he reached the gym, he noticed that Matt was already there. The boy's eyes brightened when he noticed Castiel, and walked forward to greet him.

"Castiel! Buddy!" He announced. Castiel just smiled a bit awkwardly. He'd been friends with Matt for almost seven weeks, but recently he'd noticed his friend was acting more and more rude and dismissive of Castiel. He brushed the thought away. It was probably just stress or something.

"Hello, Matt." Castiel replied.

Matt grinned. "It's nice to see you! I've got a favor to ask of you, pal!"

Of course. He always asked for favors. Castiel knew friends were supposed to help each other out, but he wasn't sure that this was how it worked. If he tried to ask Matt for a favor, his smile grew cold, and he would say that they'd get to that later.

"What is it?" He asked, because he wanted to be a good friend.

"Well, there's this one boy I had the displeasure of meeting earlier today. Nasty and rude. The new kid. His name is Dean Winchester!"

Uh oh. Castiel saw where this was going.

"I want you to go and show him who's boss."

This wasn't a new request; Castiel had beaten people up for Matt before, but only if there was evidence that they'd hurt Matt. And even then, he didn't hurt them that bad. But this was different! He knew Dean, and he knew that he was nice. Dean was a friend. And besides, Castiel wasn't sure if he could beat Dean up even if he wanted to.

He had to let Matt know.

Castiel took a deep breath.

"I-I can't do that, Matt."

Matt's grin fell, and he swore he could almost hear it shatter in the silence. "Excuse me?"

"He's my friend! I don't want to hurt him."

"Who cares if he's your friend! You work for me!"

Matt was yelling now, face red and angry. Castiel didn't like it. It scared him.

It reminded him of Luke.

"I...I thought we were friends too." Castiel muttered, eyes on the ground. His voice was soft and sounded as though it might break any moment.

"Friends? You actually thought I'd be friends with someone as retarded as you?" Matt shouted, mockery dripping from his voice. "I just needed a muscle. You're so stupid, no wonder you wanted a friend so badly! You haven't got any!"

Castiel tried to respond, but his voice didn't work.

"Whatever! I can find someone else! Someone stronger, someone smarter! You know why? Because you're replaceable!"

And with that, Matt stormed off, leaving Castiel standing by himself.

He wanted to cry.

A moment later, a voice made him jump. "My, my. Put faith in the wrong person, did you?"

Castiel whirled around, coming face to face with none other than Fergus himself. Suddenly his face flushed. He didn't want this kid, who had made taunting Castiel a hobby, to know that he had almost cried. He folded his arms and averted his red eyes.

"Hello, Fergus." He said in the strongest voice he could muster.

The boy's eyes darkened. "Crowley!"

Castiel shrugged absent-mindedly. He almost smiled when he saw that there was still a slight bruise on Crowley's jaw.

Crowley followed his line of sight and scowled. "Proud of it, are you? Thought you were strong? Well, look where that's got you!"

He grinned at Castiel, a mean-spirited thing. Paired with the boy's dark, husky voice, it made Castiel want to run.

But he didn't.

"Surprised it took you so long to figure out that Thompson was an arse, love. At least I'm up front about it."

Castiel wrinkled his nose, trying to ignore the fact that he'd been so gullible. "Don't call me love." He muttered.

Crowley's grin grew, and his eyes were half-lidded. He leaned in closer. "Why? Don't you love me, Angel?" His voice was low.

Castiel shrunk into his coat. He knew that Crowley did this to everyone, but it still made him uncomfortable. Although he supposed that that was Crowley's goal. Crowley was the one boy that no one made fun of for flirting with boys as well as girls, simply because he was so damn scary when he wanted to be.

(Crowley would say it was because everyone secretly enjoyed it. Ha.)

"Not particularly." Was Castiel's flustered response.

"Mm." Crowley raised an eyebrow.

Castiel quickly changed the subject before it went into a dark corner he would rather not explore. "Why did you follow me?"

Crowley shrugged. "Needed a favor. Not the kind Matt was asking for, either. I'll owe you one."

Castiel eyed him warily. "What is it?"

"As I'm sure even your little brain is aware, I work for your delightfully horrible older brother. Thing is, I'm not too happy with my place. I hardly get told anything, and my position is dangerously close to, dare I say it? Disposable. Same boat, hm?"

Castiel glared at him, in a, and your point is? sort of way.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Using my incredible brain and my dashing good looks, I have managed to find out that Luke is planning something. I don't know what it is, but I would like to, because it just so happens that my delicate ass may depend on it. Any volunteers?"

Castiel was still glaring. "Really? You thought I'd be the best choice for this? Luke hates me, and I hate him!"

The Scotsman nodded in agreement. "True... he uses a picture of your face as a dartboard. Has one of everyone in your family, actually. 'Cept Michael."

Crowley stared at the ground, adapting his plan. Castiel took the moment to compose himself. That last comment had actually kind of hurt.

"So...why do you wanna know what Luke is up to?"

Crowley looked up, startled out of his thoughts. "Hm? Oh, just general curiosity."

Castiel squinted at him. He might not be the best as reading people, but he could tell that Crowley wasn't being truthful.

"You're lying."

"You're stupid."

"That's not funny," Castiel reprimanded. "Stop being a child and tell me the truth."

Crowley looked uncomfortable now. "Well...I may or may not...be sort of...stealing things from your brother. Little things! He'd never notice!"

"You seem quite nervous about it considering he would never notice."

"Look, working in a drug ring isn't all it's cracked up to be, alright? Sure, the violence and drugs are the fun bit, but I keep being put on barista duty more and more, to keep the cover up! We've got so many newer, less sophisticated people to do that. I made the most deals! I was the king!"

Crowley took a breath, face red and chest heaving. The longer he talked and the louder his voice got, the more strangled he sounded.

"Anyways," he continued once he'd composed himself. "The fun's being sucked out of it. I'm getting less money. My family doesn't give a damn about me, and I need to be able to take care of myself! I need this!"

Castiel's face softened, and Crowley looked as though he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

"That's why you want help. You feel vulnerable."

"NO, I'm fine! I'm-"

"It's okay to admit it, Fergus."

"No it's NOT! And it's Crowley! You know what? I've changed my mind!"

The boy began to stalk off, but Castiel grabbed him by the sleeve.

"I'll see what I can do. Perhaps one of my friends can help."

Crowley grinned his stupid, mocking grin again. The revealance of his vulnerability had caused him to throw his sardonic wall right back up.

"Oh really, the little retard's got friends, has he?"

Castiel glared at him. "Yes. I do, actually. Sam and Dean."

Castiel hadn't expected Crowley to recognize either of those names, but to his surprise, Crowley's grin widened, and his eyes were half-lidded. Uh oh. Castiel knew that face.

"Ooh, make it Sam. I'd love to see him in the coffee shop. A couple of choice clothing articles, too."

Castiel groaned and let go of the other teen's sleeve. "Can you go for ten minutes without making a sexual comment?" Even if he didn't always understand what was being said, Crowley's face and tone of voice almost made him feel violated.

Crowley shrugged, grinning. "Doubt it."

"Whatever!"

There was a strange silence between the two as they regarded each other a moment longer.

"So." Was all Castiel said.

"So." Crowley's face was now brooding, serious.

"Thanks. I suppose. If you don't get us both killed.

"You're welcome."

Castiel began to walk away. Anna would start to worry if he didn't get home soon.

Crowley spoke again, and his voice made Castiel stop and shut his eyes.

"Y'know, Angel..."

Please, no, Castiel prayed.

"'Not particularly' isn't really a no, now is it?" He could almost hear the sensual grin in his voice.

Castiel walked away so quickly he almost ran, face beet red, Crowley laughing behind him.

((Author's note: these two won't get together, and I don't ship them. Crowley just flirts w/everyone, especially in this, because it's his way of keeping the high ground: making everyone too uncomfortable to take it from him. Crowley is in a dangerous position, so he kind of just...uses it more, as a defense mechanism so that he doesn't have to give anything about himself away.))


	7. Don't Hesitate If You Value Your Life

"You want me to what?"

Sam thought for a moment that he might've heard the other boy wrong, but he couldn't have. Cass always enunciated very clearly and matter-of-factly.

Sam stared at Cass in confusion and disbelief, trying to keep his voice down so that he wouldn't attract the attention of the rest of the cafeteria. (They had asked their siblings to sit away from them for the lunch period, to discuss their "confidential" plan. Cass had spent the last three days coming up with a plan with Crowley to ensure Sam's safety. Hopefully.)

Cass shifted uncomfortably. "I understand your concern, Sam, and I know that this is a lot to ask of you right now. However, if you could just try?"

"Cass, I barely know Crowley. I would love to help you, but isn't your brother dangerous? You and Anna warned me away from him just a few days ago!"

Cass sighed, nodding. "Yes, well…I understand if you would not want to do this. But I will make sure you will not be hurt! Crowley will be in the shop almost every day that you will be, and Luke would not do anything to harm a customer in public."

Sam looked away, weighing the pros and cons.

He definitely wanted to help his new friend. Why wouldn't he? But he was also a bit afraid of his mysterious brother, Luke, and didn't exactly feel like seeking him out and spending time with him. On the other hand, it would only be for a few days, and only a few days a week…surely nothing horrible could happen?

With a sigh, Sam looked back up at Cass. "Okay. I think I can do it."

Cass's face lit up with gratitude, and he placed a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "Thank you. Would you like to go through the plan once again?"

Sam nods an affirmative, and Cass consults the notebook he had written notes in.

"Alright…. Sam, every Monday and Friday of the week, you will visit Luke's coffee shop. Here's the directions. Precisely after school, you will order a coffee of your choosing from Luke. He will be working there doing those hours. He will be the one with blond hair, blue eyes, and he'll walk a bit odd due to a back injury he received years ago…."

As Sam stood outside the coffee shop, he took a deep breath.

Okay. You can do this.

Summoning his courage, he stepped forward and walked through the front door. The first thing he noticed was that the shop was fairly empty, aside from a few customers. One of them looked like he was high, sitting in the back, and the other two were a couple in the middle of ordering. There were only two employees, and Sam's heart jumped a bit when he saw that Crowley wasn't one of them. He hadn't been scheduled today.

He could recognize Luke, who was currently on the register, and the other employee was a dark haired young woman who was fixing one of the drinks.

Trying to calm his nerves, he waited patiently in line, rehearsing his order in his head.

Finally, the couple got their drinks and left the shop, leaving Sam free to order. He approached the counter, trying to act normal. Luke fixed his gaze on him, and even though he was smiling, his eyes were cold and, the longer Sam looked into them, the more disturbed he felt.

He looked away, pretending to read the menu.

"Hello, kid. What'll it be?" The shop owner's crow's feet deepened as he squinted at the boy in front of him. Sam can feel himself freezing. He's always had trouble in social situations, and a possibly dangerous one is ten times worse.

Suddenly, he recalls something Crowley had muttered to him in math class the other day.

"Luke can be a fickle fellow, but if there's one rule to follow, it's this: don't hesitate if you value your life. Ever."

"Um, a coffee with two creams and sugars and a cinnamon roll. To go, please."

"You got it." Luke nodded back to the young woman, whose name tag read "MEG", and she began to make his coffee as the owner ducked behind the display case to grab a cinnamon roll.

"Bit young for coffee, aren't ya?" He asked as he straightened up. Sam noticed that he didn't stand perfectly upright, and instead leaned slightly to the left.

"I'm in honors classes." Sam replied with a shrug. "I need to keep my energy up. There's tons of homework and stuff."

Well, it's not a lie.

Luke smiles again, although Sam isn't sure if he's ever stopped. His mouth seems to be perpetually curved upwards in cold amusement, but every now and then he smiles a real smile, a face-splitting grimace of violent satisfaction, and then it's gone.

Sam stands awkwardly, holding his pastry bag and waiting for the coffee. He tries to maintain a normal appearance, but it's hard. Luke seems unable to look anywhere but at Sam's eyes, and the more Luke looks, the more Sam is tempted to look away, but he doesn't. He holds fast, for fear that any glance to the side might reveal him.

Sam almost thinks that the suspense, that the wait, will drive him mad, as those blue eyes bore into him, as if attempting to extract his soul, when Meg plunks a Styrofoam cup on the counter. Quickly, quicker than he meant to, he grabs it and hands Luke the money he owes.

"Thanks." He utters, and turns to leave, doing his best to not run out of the coffee shop.

"Leaving so soon?" Luke calls after him, and Sam turns to see he and Meg smirking a bit. As if they can sense his fear.

"Yeah." Sam replies, still moving to the door, and he's surprised that his voice isn't shaking. Luke seems surprised as well, and something else. Impressed? Without hesitation, he makes up an excuse. "School project."

And then he's gone, the bell on the door jingling cheerily after him.

The turbulent blue gaze stays on him all the way down the street.


End file.
